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Ex  Libris 
[    C.  K.  OGDEN 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  WESTERN  FRONT 


DRAWINGS    BY 
MUIRHEAD   BONE 


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WITH   AN    INTRODUCTION   BY 

GENERAL  SIR  DOUGLAS  HAIG 

G.C.U.,    G.C.V.O.,    K.C.I. E..    a.©.C. 


PUBLISHED    BY  AUTHORITY  OF  THE  WAR  OFFICE 

FROM    THE    OFFICES    OF      '  COUNTRY    LIFE,"     LTD., 
■2o.  TAVISTOCK  STREET,  COVENT    GARDEN,   LONDON 

MCMXVII 


I  have  been  asked  to  write  a  foreword  to  Mr.  Muirhead 
Bone's  drawings.  This  I  am  glad  to  do,  as  they  illustrate 
admirably  the  daily  life  of  the  troops  under  my  command. 

The  conditions  under  which  we  live  in  France  are  so 
different  from  those  to  which  people  at  home  are  accustomed, 
that  no  pen,  however  skilful,  can  explain  them  without  the 
aid  of  the  pencil. 

The  destruction  caused  by  war,  the  wide  areas  of  devas- 
tation, the  vast  mechanical  agencies  essential  in  war,  both  for 
transport  and  the  offensive,  the  masses  of  supplies  required, 
and  the  wonderful  cheerfulness  and  indomitable  courage  of 
the  soldiers  under  varying  climatic  conditions,  are  worthy 
subjects  for  the  artist  who  aims  at  recording  for  all  time  the 
spirit  of  the  age  in  which  he  has  lived. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  portrait  and  the  picture  are 
invaluable  aids  to  the  right  reading  of  history.  From  this 
point  of  view  I  welcome,  on  behalf  of  the  Army  that  I  have 
the  honour  to  command,  this  series  of  drawings,  as  a 
permanent  record  in  pencil  of  the  duties  which  our  soldiers 
have  been  called  upon  to  perform,  and  the  quality  and 
manner  of  its  performance. 


k^.^t 


«  / 

General  Headquarters, 
November,  1 9 1 6 


ir)i:::.S34 


THE  WESTERN  FRONT 

THE  British  line  in  France  and  Belgium  runs  through  country 
of  three  kinds,  and  each  kind  is  like  a  part  of  England. 
Between  the  Somme  and  Arras  a  British  soldier  often  feels 
that  he  has  not  quite  left  the  place  of  his  training  on  Salisbury 
Plain.  The  main  roads  may  be  different,  with  their  endless  rows  of 
sentinel  trees,  and  the  farms  are  mostly  clustered  into  villages,  where 
they  turn  their  backs  to  the  streets.  More  of  the  land,  too,  is  tilled. 
But  the  ground  has  the  same  large  and  gentle  undulation  ;  and  these 
great  rollers  are  made,  as  in  Wiltshire,  of  pure  chalk  coated  with  only 
a  little  brown  clay.  There  are  the  same  wide  prospects,  the  same  lack 
of  streams  and  ponds,  the  same  ledges  and  curious  carvings  of  the  soil ; 
and  journeys  on  foot  seem  long,  as  they  do  on  our  downs,  because  so 
much  of  the  road  before  you  is  visible  while  you  march. 

A  little  north  of  Arras  there  begins,  almost  at  a  turn  of  the  road,  a 
black  country,  where  men  of  the  South  Lancashires  feel  at  home  and 
grant  that  the  landscape  has  some  of  the  points  of  Wigan.  It  is  the 
region  of  Loos  and  Vermelles  and  Bully  Grenay,  most  of  it  level  ground 
on  which  the  only  eminences  are  the  refuse-heaps  of  coal  mines.  Across 
this  level  the  eye  feels  its  way  from  one  well-known  stack  of  pit-head 
buildings  and  winding  machinery  to  another.  They  are,  to  an  English 
eye,  strangely  lofty  and  stand  out  like  lighthouses  over  a  sea.  The 
villages  near  their  feet  are  commonly  "model"  or  "garden,"  with  all 
the  houses  built  well,  as  parts  of  one  plan.  As  in  Lancashire,  farming 
and  m.ining  go  on  side  by  side,  and  in  August  the  corn  is  grey  with  a 
mixture  of  blown  dusts  from  colHeries  and  from  the  road. 

The  next  change  is  not  abrupt,  like  the  first ;  but  it  is  as  great. 
Near  Ypres  you  are  on  the  sands,  though  yet  twenty  miles  from  the  sea. 
Here  you  have  a  sense  of  being  in  a  place  still  alive  but  pensioned  oft' 
by  nature  after  its  work  was  done.  You  feel  it  at  Rye  and  Winchelsea, 
at  Ravenna,  and  at  any  place  which  the  sea  has  once  made  great  and 
then  abandoned.  The  wide  Ypres  landscape  drawn  by  Mr.  Bone  was 
all  mellow  on  sunny  days  at  the  end  of  July  with  the  warm  brown  and 
yellow  of  many  good  crops.  Almost  up  to  the  British  front  it  was 
farmed  minutely  and  intensely ;  in  spring  I  had  seen  a  man  plougliing  a 
field  where  a  German  shell,  on  the  average,  dropped  every  day.  But  all 
this  countryside  has  the  brooding  quietude  of  a  sort  of  honourable  old 
age,  dignity  and  pcnsiveness  and  comfort  behind  its  natural  rampart  of 
sand  dunes,  but  not  the  stir  of  life  at  full  pressure. 

Into  this  vari-coloured  belt  of  landscape,  some  ninety  miles  long, 
and  into  its  cities  and  villages,  the  war  has  brought  strange  violences  of 
effort  and  several  diflerent  degrees  of  desolation.    Some  villages  are  dead 


and  buried,  like  Pozi(^res,  where  you  must  dig  to  find  where  a  house 
stood.  There  are  cities  dead,  but  with  their  bones  still  above  ground : 
Ypres  is  one — many  walls  stand  where  they  did,  but  grass  is  growing 
among  the  broken  stones  and  bits  of  stained  glass  on  the  floor  of  the 
Cloth  Hall,  and  at  noon  a  visitor's  footsteps  ring  and  echo  in  the  empty 
streets  like  those  of  a  belated  wayfarer  in  midnight  Oxford.  "  How  doth 
the  city  sit  desolate  that  once  was  full  of  people  !  "  Again,  there  are 
towns  like  Arras,  whose  flesh,  though  torn,  has  life  in  it  still,  and  seems 
to  feel  a  new  wound  from  each  shell,  though  there  be  no  man  there  to 
be  hit.  These  are  the  broader  differences  between  one  part  of  the  front 
and  another.  In  any  one  place  there  are  minor  caprices  of  destruction 
or  survival.  Mr.  Bone  has  drawn  the  top  of  the  Albert  Church  tower, 
a  building  that  was  ugly  when  it  w^as  whole,  but  now  is  famous  for  its 
impending  figure  of  the  Virgin,  knocked  by  artillery  fire  into  a  singular 
diving  attitude,  with  the  Child  in  her  outstretched  hands.  Of  the  two 
or  three  buildings  unharmed  in  Arras  one  is  the  oldest  house  in  the 
town  and  another  was  Robespierre's  birthplace. 

In  the  fields,  as  you  near  the  front  line,  you  note  an  ascending  scale 
of  desolation.  It  is  most  clear  on  the  battlefield  of  the  Somme.  First 
you  pass  across  two  or  three  miles  of  land  on  which  so  many  shells  fall, 
or  used  to  fall,  that  it  has  not  been  tilled  for  two  years.  It  is  a  waste, 
but  a  green  waste,  where  not  trodden  brown  by  horses  and  men.  It  is 
gay  in  summer  with  poppies,  convolvolus  and  cornflowers.  Among  the 
thistles  and  coarse  grass  you  see  self-sown  shoots  of  the  old  crops,  of 
beet,  mustard  and  corn.  Beyond  this  zone  of  land  merely  thrown  idle 
you  reach  the  ultimate  desert  where  nothing  but  men  and  rats  can  live. 
Here  even  the  weeds  have  been  rooted  up  and  buried  by  shells,  the 
houses  are  ground  down  to  brick-dust  and  lime  and  mixed  with  the  earth, 
which  is  constantly  turned  up  and  turned  up  again  by  more  shells  and 
kept  loose  and  soft.  The  trees,  broken  half-way  up  their  trunks  and 
stripped  of  leaves  and  branches,  look  curiously  haggard  and  sinister. 

It  is  hoped  that  Mr.  Bone's  drawings  will  give  a  new  insight  into 
the  spirit  in  which  the  battle  of  freedom  is  being  fought.  An  artist  does 
not  merely  draw  ruined  churches  and  houses,  guards  and  lorries,  doctors 
and  wounded  men.  It  is  for  him  to  make  us  see  something  more  than 
we  do  even  when  we  see  all  these  with  our  own  eyes — to  make  visible 
by  his  art  the  staunchness  and  patience,  the  faithful  absorption  in  the 
next  duty,  the  humour  and  human  decency  and  good  nature — all  the 
strains  of  character  and  emotion  that  go  to  make  up  the  temper  of 
Britain  at  war. 

G.H.Q.,  France, 

Novetnber,  1 9 1 6 


I 


GENERAL   SIR  DOUGLAS  HAIG 

G.C.B,  G.C.V.O.,  K.C.I.E.,  B.^.<C. 


II 


GRAND  PLACE   AND   RUINS  OF  THE 
CLOTH   HALL,   YPRES 

The  gaunt  emptiness  of  Ypres  is  expressed  in  this 
drawing,  done  from  the  doorway  of  a  ruined  church  in  a 
neighbouring  square.  The  grass  has  grown  long  this 
summer  on  the  GrandTlace  and  is  creeping  up  over  the 
heaps  of  ruins.  The  only  continuous  sound  in  Ypres  is 
that  of  birds,  which  sing  in  it  as  if  it  were  country. 


Ill 


A   STREET   IN   YPRES 

In  the  distance  is  seen  what  remains  of  the  Cloth  Hall. 
On  the  right  a  wall  long  left  unsupported  is  bending  to  its 
fall.  The  crash  of  such  a  fail  is  one  of  the  few  sounds 
that  now  break  the  silence  of  Ypres,  where  the  visitor 
starts  at  the  noise  of  a  distant  footfall  in  the  grass-grown 
streets. 


IV 


DISTANT  VIEW   OF   YPRES 

The  Ypres  salient  is  here  seen  from  a  knoll  some  six 
miles  south-west  of  the  city,  which  is  marked,  near  the 
centre  of  the  drawing,  by  the  dominant  ruin  of  the 
cathedral.  The  German  front  line  is  on  the  heights 
beyond,  Hooge  being  a  little  to  the  spectator's  right 
of  the  city  and  Zillebeke  slightly  more  to  the  right  again. 
Dickebusch  lies  about  half  way  between  the  eye  and 
Ypres.  The  fields  in  sight  are  covered  with  crops,  varied 
by  good  woodland.  To  a  visitor  coming  from  the  Somme 
battlefield  the  landscape  looks  rich  and  almost  peaceful. 


A   VILLAGE   CHURCH   IN   FLANDERS 

All  round  this  church  there  is  the  quiet  of  a  desert.  The 
drawing  was  made  from  within  a  house  opposite ;  the  fall 
of  its  entire  front  provided  an  extensive  window  view. 


VI 


THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   SOMME 

An  exciting  moment  in  the  fighting  for  the  summit  ridge 
of  the  battlefield  in  August,  191 6.  All  the  British  guns 
have  just  burst  into  action  and  our  infantry  are  advancing 
unseen  in  the  cloud  of  smoke  on  the  sky-line.  The  puflFs 
of  smoke  high  in  the  air  are  from  bursting  shrapnel.  The 
battle  is  seen  from  King  George's  Hill,  near  the  old 
German  front  line,  taken  on  July  ist,  1916.  Below, 
among  the  ravaged  trees,  are  the  ruins  of  Mametz ; 
beyond  them,  Mametz  Wood  ;  beyond  it,  again,  the  wood 
of  Bazentin-le-Petit. 


VII. 


*' TANKS" 


In  this  fine  drawing  Mr.  Bone  has  seen  the  "  Tank  "  in  its 
major  aspect,  as   a    grim    and  daunting    engine    of   war. 


'Ill 


RUINED  GERMAN  TRENCHES, 
NEAR  CONTALMAISON 

The  drawing  shows  a  former  German  front-line  trench 
reduced  by  our  artillery  fire,  before  an  advance,  to  a  mass 
of  capricious  looking  irregularities  in  the  ground.  The 
German  barbed  wire  entanglements  are  seen  destroyed  by 
our  shell  fire  to  open  the  way  for  our  attacking  troops. 


IX 


THE   NIGHT   PICKET 

The  hour  is  Retreat  and  a  Sergeant-Major  is  inspecting 
the  three  men  for  duty  at  a  one-man  post  during  the 
coming  night.  Each  man  in  turn  will  do  two  hours'  duty, 
followed  by  four  hours'  rest.  The  fine  austere  drawing 
of  the  sunset,  the  wide  waste  spaces,  the  intent  men 
mounting  picket  and  the  men  off  duty  strolling  at  ease,  is 
imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the  region  just  behind  our  front. 


—1 


X 


DUG-OUTS 

A  small  hamlet  of  sand-bagged  dug-outs  a  little  behind  the 
front  line,  seen  during  a  passing  lift  of  the  clouds  at  the 
end  of  a  wet  day.  Many  dug-outs,  like  the  one  on  the 
left,  bear  such  names  as  "  The  Rat  Hole,"  "It,"  "  Some 
Dug-out,  believe  ma,"  "  The  Old  Curiosity  Shop  "  and 
"The  Ritz."  On  the  right,  a  shelf  in  the  outer  wall  of 
sand-bags  is  decorated  with  flowers  in  pots. 


XI 

GORDON   HIGHLANDERS  : 
OFFICERS'   MESS 

In  the  bare  dancing  hall  of  a  village  inn  behind  the 
Somme  Front.  The  artist  has  found  means  to  interpret 
with  the  utmost  sympathy  and  power  the  extraordinary 
romantic  quality  that  there  often  is  about  a  Highland  mess 
in  France,  created  by  the  rude  setting,  the  primitive  half 
light  amidst  cavernous  gloom,  and  the  spectator's  sense  of 
an  enveloping  world  of  strange  dangers  and  adventures. 


XII 


WAITING   FOR  THE  WOUNDED 

A  British  advance  has  just  begun,  and  the  surgeons  of  a 
Divisional  Collecting  Station  near  the  Somme  are  awaiting 
the  arrival  of  the  first  laden  stretcher-bearers.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  three  officers  will  be  at  work,  perhaps  for 
twenty-four  hours  on  end.  At  one  Casualty  Clearing 
Station  a  distinguished  surgeon  performed,  without  resting, 
nineteen  difficult  operations,  each  lasting  more  than  an 
hour,  in  cases  of  severe  abdominal  wounds,  where  delay 
would  have  meant  the  loss  of  life.  In  almost  every  case 
the  man  was  saved.  Another  surgeon  operated  for  thirty- 
six  hours  without  relief.  Such  devotion  is  not  exceptional 
in  the  R.A.M.C. 


XIII 

THE   HAPPY    WARRIOR 

The  place  is  a  field  dressing  station.  The  wounded 
Grenadier  Guardsman  in  the  foreground  on  the  left, 
wearing  a  German  helmet  and  eating  bread  and  jam,  had 
brought  in  as  prisoner  the  German  who  is  sitting  on 
the  right  with  his  hand  to  his  face.  The  Guardsman 
indicated  the  German  to  the  artist,  and  said,  "  Won't  you 
draw  my  pal  here,  too,  Sir }  He  and  me  had  a  turn-up 
this  morning  when  we  took  their  trench,  and  he  jabbed 
me  in  the  arm  and  I  jabbed  him  in  the  eye,  and  we're  the 
best  of  friends."  Other  Germans  are  sitting  in  attitudes 
characteristic  of  newly-made  prisoners. 


'"^m 


XIV  (a  and  b) 

RED  CROSS   BARGES  ON  THE   SOMME 

Many  wounded  or  sick  soldiers,  British  and  French,  are 
brought  by  river  or  canal  from  near  the  front  to  near  a 
base  hospital  or  the  sea.  The  motion  is  easy,  the  men 
have  good  air  and  quiet ;  any  who  are  well  enough  to  be 
on  deck  have  pleasant  and  changeful  surroundings  to  look 
at.  The  English  have  fitted  up  for  this  purpose  many  of 
the  large,  square-built  and  bluff-bowed — almost  box-like — 
French  canal  boats.  They  are  towed,  in  pairs,  by  small 
tugs.  The  French  Red  Cross  uses  barges  driven  by 
engines  placed  aft. 


4i^*-   ^^f^L  '■ 


(7>-^ 


■■s<^- 


XV 


AT   A   BASE   STATION 

A  midnight  scene  at  a  base  railway  station.  Train-loads 
of  "  walking  wounded  "  on  their  way  to  England  are  met 
at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night  by  V.A.D.  workers  who 
offer  the  men  hot  tea  or  cocoa,  and  bread  and  butter. 
The  quality  of  the  food,  and  the  manner  of  the  gift,  give 
extraordinary  pleasure  to  the  tired  men. 


XVI 

ON  A   HOSPITAL  SHIP 

The  boat  here  is  an  old  one ;  in  newer  boats  the  accom- 
modation is  finer,  but  the  drawing  shows  the  ordinary 
mode  of  bedding  the  patients  in  double  tiers  of  continuous 
bunks.  At  some  point  in  the  passage  an  RA.M.C. 
orderly  asks  every  patient  to  what  part  of  "  Blighty  "  he 
belongs,  and  an  effort  is  made  to  send  him  to  a  hospital 
near  his  home.  The  orderly's  approach,  as  he  makes  his 
rounds,  is  always  eagerly  awaited  throughout  the  ship  by 
the  wounded  men. 


XVII 

DISEMBARKED   TROOPS  WAITING 
TO  MARCH   OFF 

An  every-day  scene  at  the  French  ports  where  our  men 
land.  Whatever  may  come  after,  there  are  few  moments 
so  thrilling  to  an  untravelled  soldier  of  the  New  Army  as 
those  in  which  he  awaits  the  order  to  march  off  into  the 
unknown,  with  all  the  strange  events  of  war  before  him. 


XVIII 

SOLDIERS'   BILLETS — MOONLIGHT 

The  unusually  comfortable  quarters  of  a  Company  in 
reserve  while  other  Companies  of  its  Battalion  are  in  the 
firing  and  support  trenches,  two  or  three  miles  further  up. 
Reserve  billets  are  more  often  under  ground,  sometimes  in 
the  cellars  of  ruined  houses.  A  thick  covering  of  ruins 
above  gives  complete  security  against  shell  fire. 


XIX 


A  GUN  HOSPITAL 

Many  wounded  or  worn  guns,  of  all  calibres,  are  brought 
back  for  treatment  to  "  hospitals  "  which  do  not  fly  the 
Red  Cross.  Here  are  a  few  invalided  "  heavies."  The  gun 
on  the  extreme  right  is  the  first  British  9.2  that  came  to 
France.  Like  most  of  our  heavy  guns  she  has  been 
christened  by  her  crew  and  bears  the  punning  inscription, 
"  Lizzie,  Somme  Strafer." 


i^  ■*   vi 


XX 


AN   OBSERVATION   POST 

The  lower  part  of  the  first  of  the  ladders  leading  up  to 
an  artillery  observation  post  in  the  top  of  a  tall  tree.  It 
commanded  a  large  part  of  the  Somme  battlefield  until 
the  summit  ridge  was  won ;  every  detail  of  several 
successful  British  advances  could  be  watched  from  the 
tree-top.  The  battle  has  now  left  it  far  in  the  rear,  and 
it  is  disused. 


■':v< 


'-     .     '-"A'  ff,/-.-  .  .. 


THE   SOMME    BATTLEFIELD. 


THE  main  Anglo-German  battlefield  of  19 16  is  a  little  range  of 
chalk  down  or  blunt  hill.  It  is  ten  miles  long  and  seven  miles 
wide,  and  its  watershed  runs  from  north-west  to  south-east — 
from  near  Thiepval,  above  the  small  river  Ancre,  to  Combles, 
four  miles  to  the  north  of  the  canalised  Somme.  This  summit  ridge  is 
not  quite  500  feet  high — about  as  high  as  the  Hog's  Back  in  Surrey. 
The  south-western  slope  of  the  range  is  rather  steeper  and  more  broken 
up  into  terraces  and  lateral  ridges  and  defiles  than  the  north-eastern 
slope.  There  is  no  real  escarpment,  but  enough  difference  to  make  the 
south-western  slope  the  harder  to  attack. 

Small  as  this  ridge  is,  it  is  the  highest  ground,  in  these  parts, 
between  the  Belgian  plain  and  the  main  plain  of  Northern  France.  It  is 
crossed  at  right  angles  by  one  great  road,  the  famous  French  Route 
Nationale  that  runs  nearly  dead  straight  from  Rouen,  through  Amiens, 
to  Valenciennes,  and  so  leads  on  to  Brussels  by  Mons.  On  the  battlefield, 
between  Albert  and  Bapaume,  it  reaches  the  highest  point  above  the  sea 
in  all  its  long  course,  at  a  spot  where  a  heap  of  powdered  brick  and 
masonry,  forty  yards  ofl^  to  the  north,   marks  the  site  of  the  Windmill  of 


Poziferes,  one  of  those  solitary  buildings  to  which,  likis  Falfemont  Farm 
and  the  Abbey  at  Eaucourt,  the  war  has  brought  death  and  immortality. 

From  this  road,  at  one  point  or  another,  you  can  see  most  of  the 
places  that  were  made  famous  in  19 16.  A  mile  and  a  half  from  Albert, 
as  you  go  out  north-eastward,  you  spy  in  a  hollow  below  you  a  whitish 
sprinkling  of  mixed  mud,  brick -dust  and  lime,  the  remains  of  La 
Boisselle,  on  the  right  of  the  road.  On  its  left  a  second  grey  patch  is 
the  site  of  Ovillers.  Beyond  La  Boisselle  Contalmaison  is  just  out  of  sight 
behind  a  shoulder  of  hill.  Nearly  all  the  most  hard-fought  woods  are  in 
sight — High  Wood  on  the  sky-line,  and  Delville  Wood  larger  on  its 
right,  and  then  in  succession,  with  sharp  intervals  of  bareness  between 
them,  the  woods  of  Bazentin,  Mametz  and  Fricourt.  Above  them  and 
more  distant  are  the  dense  trees  that  have  Maricourt  and  the  French 
troops  at  their  feet,  and,  high  on  their  right,  the  thin  file  of  trees  shading 
the  road  that  runs  from  Albert,  past  Camoy  and  Clery,  to  Peronne. 
You  walk  on  for  three  miles  and  may  not  observe  that  you  have  passed 
through  Poziferes,  so  similar  are  raw  chalk  and  builder's  lime,  raw  clay 
and  powdered  brick,  when  weeds  grow  thick  over  both.  But  the  great 
road — strangely  declined  into  a  rough  field  track — begins  to  fall,  away 
before  you,  and  new  prospects  to  open — Courcelette  and  Martinpuich 
almost  at  your  feet,  and  straight  beyond  them  the  church  and  town  hall 
of  Bapaume  at  the  end  of  the  long  avenue  of  roadside  trees.  Looking 
left  you  see,  two  miles  away,  the  western  end  of  the  summit  ridge,  the 
last  point  upon  it  from  which  the  Germans  were  driven  ;  so  that,  even 
after  the  fall  of  Thiepval,  a  shell  would  sometimes  come  from  the 
Schwaben  Redoubt  to  remind  unwary  walkers  at  Poziferes  Windmill  that 
enemy  eyes  still  watched  the  lost  ground. 

Among  the  wreckage  of  the  countryside  you  can  detect  the  traces  of 
old  standing  comfort  and  rustic  wealth.  "The  many  wayside  windmills 
show  you  how  much  corn  was  grown.  In  size  and  plan  they  are 
curiously  like  the  mighty  stone  dovecotes  of  Fifeshire.  Almost  as 
frequent  as  ruined  windmills  are  ruined  sugar  refineries,  standing  a 
little  detached  in  the  fields,  like  the  one  at  Courcelette,  for  which  armies 
fought  as  they  fought  for  the  neighbouring  windmill.  Beet  was  the  next 
crop  to  grain.  There  were  little  industries,  too,  like  the  making  of 
buttons   for  shirts  at   F^ricourt,  where  you  see  by  the  road  small  refuse 


heaps  of  old  oyster  shells  with  many  round  holes  where  the  little  discs 
have  been  cut  cleanly  out  of  the  mother-of-pearl,  though  all  other  trace 
of  the  factories  has  vanished.  Each  village  commune  had  its  wood,  with 
certain  rights  for  the  members  of  the  commune  to  take  timber ;  Fricourt 
Wood  at  the  doors  of  Fricourt,  Mametz  Wood  rather  far  from  Mametz, 
as  there  was  no  good  wood  nearer.  All  these  woods  were  well  fenced 
and  kept  up,  like  patches  of  hedged  cover  dotted  over  a  park.  It  was  a 
good  country  to  live  in,  and  good  men  came  from  it.  The  French  Army 
Corps  that  drew  on  these  villages  for  recruits  has  won  honour  beyond  all 
other  French  Corps  in  the  battle  of  the  Somme. 

Many  skilled  writers  have  tried  to  describe  the  aghast  look  of  these 
fields  where  the  battle  had  passed  over  them.  But  every  new  visitor 
says  the  same  thing — that  they  had  not  succeeded  ;  no  eloquence  has  yet 
conveyed  the  disquieting  strangeness  of  the  portent.  You  can  enumerate 
many  ugly  and  queer  freaks  of  the  destroying  powers — the  villages  not 
only  planed  off  the  face  of  the  earth  but  rooted  out  of  it,  house  by  house, 
like  bits  of  old  teeth  ;  the  thin  brakes  of  black  stumps  that  used  to  be 
woods,  the  old  graveyards  wrecked  like  kicked  ant-heaps,  the  tilth  so 
disembowelled  by  shells  that  most  of  the  good  upper  mould  created  by 
centuries  of  the  work  of  worms  and  men  is  buried  out  of  sight  and  the 
unwrought  primeval  subsoil  lies  on  the  top  ;  the  sowing  of  the  whole 
ground  with  a  new  kind  of  dragon's  teeth — unexploded  shells  that  the 
plough  may  yet  detonate,  and  bombs  that  may  let  themselves  off  if  their 
safety  pins  rust  away  sooner  than  the  springs  within.  But  no  piling  up  of 
sinister  detail  can  express  the  sombre  and  malign  quality  of  the  battlefield 
landscape  as  a  whole.  "  It  makes  a  goblin  of  the  sun" — or  it  might  if  it 
were  not  peopled  in  every  part  with  beings  so  reassuringly  and  engagingly 
human,  sane  and  reconstructive  as  British  soldiers. 


G.  H.  Q.,    France. 
January,  19 17. 


XXI 


AMIENS    CATHEDRAL 

The  "Parthenon  of  Gothic  Architecture"  is  seen  in  this 
exquisitely  delicate  and  sensitive  drawing  from  the  south- 
east, with  the  lovely  rose  window  of  the  south  transept 
partly  in  view  on  the  left.  The  wooden  spire,  which 
Ruskin  called  "  the  pretty  caprice  of  a  village  carpenter," 
looks  finer  in  the  drawing  than  in  the  original,  the  relative 
flimsiness  of  the  material  being  less  apparent.  Nothing  is 
lost  by  the  intervention  of  the  foreground  houses,  as  the 
facade  of  the  south  transept,  like  the  famous  west  front 
and  the  choir  stalls,  is  sheathed  with  sandbags  to  a  height 
of  thirty  or  forty  feet  for  protection  against  German 
bombs.     Patrolling  French  aeroplanes  are  seen  in  the  sky. 


«« 

^ 


XXII 

THE    VIRGIN    OF    MONTAUBAN 

An  image  which  strangely  escaped  destruction  during  the 
time  when  the  village  of  Montauban,  now  utterly  erased, 
was  being  shelled  successively  by  British  and  German 
guns.  By  a  similar  caprice  of  fate  the  Virgin  of  Carency, 
now  enshrined  in  a  little  chapel  in  the  French  military 
cemetery  at  Villers-aux-Bois,  received  only  some  shot 
wounds  when  the  village  was  destroyed  during  the  French 
advance  towards  Lens  in  191 5. 


XXIII 

A   SKETCH   IN   ALBERT 

Albert,  as  a  whole,  is  wrecked  to  the  degree  shown  in  this 
drawing.  The  building  in  the  middle  distance,  on  the 
right  of  the  road,  with  its  roof  timbers  exposed,  is  a  wrecked 
factory,  and  many  hundreds  of  bicycles  and  sewing 
machines  now  make  an  extraordinary  tangle  of  twisted  and 
broken  metal  in  its  basement. 


XXIV 

TAKING  THE   WOUNDED   ON    BOARD 

Wounded  men  from  the  Somme,  ordered  to  England  by 
the  Medical  Officer  commanding  the  General  or  Stationary 
Hospital  in  which  each  man  has  been  a  patient,  are  being 
put  on  board  a  hospital  ship  at  the  base.  In  the  centre  of 
the  foreground  is  seen  the  timber  framework  of  the  ship's 
large  red  cross  of  electric  lights.  With  this,  and  a  tier  of 
some  sixty  green  lights  running  from  stem  to  stern,  a 
hospital  ship  at  night  is  a  beautiful  as  well  as  unmistakeable 
object  at  sea. 


'-jf^"^^^^"^^^' 


WW  if 


XXV 


"  WALKING    WOUNDED  "    SLEEPING    ON 

DECK 

The  best  place  to  sleep,  on  a  summer  night  in  a  full 
hospital  ship,  for  a  man  whose  wound  is  not  grave 
enough  to  cause  serious  "  shock  "  and  consequent  need 
of  much  artificial  warming. 


XXVI  (a  and  b) 

"  WALKING  WOUNDED  "  ON  A  HOSPITAL 

SHIP 

This  drawing  was  done  in  the  warm  early  autumn  of 
1916.  All  "walking  wounded"  wear  lifebelts,  if  their 
injuries  permit,  during  the  Channel  crossing,  and  each 
"  stretcher  case  "  has  a  lifebelt  under  his  pillow,  if  not  on. 
The  necessity  for  this,  in  a  war  with  Germany,  has  been 
proved  by  the  fate  of  too  many  of  our  hospital  ships. 


''  WALKING  WOUNDED  ''  ON  A  HOSPITAL 

SHIP 

The  deck  of  a  British  hospital  ship  is  one  of  the  most 
cheerful  places  in  the  world.  Every  man  is  at  rest  after 
toil,  is  about  to  see  friends  after  separation,  can  smoke 
when  he  likes,  and  has  in  every  other  man  on  board  a 
companion  with  whom  endless  reminiscences  can  be 
exchanged,  and  perhaps  the  merits  and  demerits  of  the 
Ypres  salient,  or  the  most  advantageous  use  of  "  tanks," 
warmly  debated,  as  is  the  custom  of  privates  of  the  New 
Army.      Silent  (;r  vocal,  a  great  beatitude  fills  the  vessel. 


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XX\1I  (a  and  b) 

A    MAIN    APPROACH    TO    THE    BRITISH 

FRONT 

The  canvas  screen  on  the  left  marks  a  place  where  the 
road  had  been  under  enemy  observation.  A  "  sausage," 
or  stationary  observation  balloon,  is  seen  above  the  road. 
"  Sausages "  are  not  pretty.  They  exhibit,  at  various 
stages  of  inflation,  the  various  shapes  taken  by  a  maggot 
partly  uncurled.  But  the  work  done  from  them,  besides 
being  always  disagreeable  and  often  risky,  is  extremely 
valuable. 


"  ROAD    LIABLE    TO    BE     SHELLED  " 

A  stretch  of  high-road  which  was  under  enemy  observation 
when  drawn.  Such  roads  are,  of  course,  only  used  with 
due  caution.  The  whole  drawing  is  remarkably  instinct 
with  the  artist's  sense  of  a  malign  invisible  presence — a 
"  terror  that  walkcth  by  noonday  " — infesting  the  sunny 
vacant  length  of  the  forbidden  road. 


/  / 


twi" 


/  / 


^^ 


XXVIII 

TROUBLE   ON  THE   ROAD 

War  has  its  tyre  troubles,  as  peace  has.  In  this  case  the 
lack  of  a  spare  wheel,  and  the  consequent  necessity  for 
changing  an  inner  tube,  had  the  compensation  of  giving  the 
artist  time  to  make  the  drawing. 


/.  ^--^ 


■"»f#r^'i! 


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A'.^ 


XXIX 

BRITISH    TROOPS    ON    THE    MARCH    TO 

THE    SOMME 

A  typical  Picardy  landscape  behind  the  frontal  zone  of 
destruction.  The  crescent-shaped  line  of  troops  and 
transport  on  the  road  is  a  small  fraction  of  a  Division 
moving  up  to  take  its  place  in  the  front  line. 


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XXX 

A    SKETCH    AT    CONTALMAISON 

The  place  is  Contalmaison,  but  the  drawing  has  caught 
the  spirit  of  the  whole  of  the  shattered  country-side 
recaptured  this  year. 


XXXI 

ON   THE   SOiMME  :     SAUSAGE   BALLOONS 

A  typical  winter  scene  on  the  Somme  battlefield.  The 
nearer  "  sausage,"  or  captive  observation  balloon,  is  being 
run  out  to  its  proper  height  for  work,  by  unwinding  its 
cable  from  a  reel  on  the  ground.  The  further  balloon  is 
already  moored  higii  enough  and  its  observer,  alone  in  the 
small  hanging  cage,  is  at  work  with  his  map,  telescope  and 
telephone. 


XXXII 

A  WRECKED  AEROPLANE  NEAR  ALBERT 

A  casualty  in  the  R.F.C.  The  smashed  biplane  and  the 
retreating  stretcher  party  on  the  right  explain  themselves. 
On  the  left,  Albert  church,  to  the  right  of  a  tall  factory 
chimney,  is  seen  in  the  distance. 


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XXXIII 

A   MESS  OF   THE   ROYAL   FLYING  CORPS 

The  Officers'  mess  at  the  most  advanced  station  of  the  Royal 
Flying  Corps  on  the  Somme  front.  The  great  tent  was 
designed  as  an  aeroplane  hangar.  An  R.F.C.  mess  usually 
has  an  atmosphere  of  its  own.  There  is  more  variety  of 
apparel  than  at  other  messes;  there  arc  more  dogs;  personal 
mascots  abound,  and  in  many  ways  there  is  more  expression 
of  individual  choice  or  peculiarity  than  elsewhere — corre- 
sponding, perhaps,  to  the  more  individual  character  of  a 
flying  officer's  work  and  responsibilities  and  to  the  temper- 
ament which  leads  to  success  in  flying.  The  officers  are 
drawn  from  all  sorts  of  regiments,  and  each  continues  to 
wear  his  regimental  badge.  It  is  winter,  and  the  second 
figure  from  the  left  is  wearing  a  fur  jacket. 


XXXIV 

WATCHING    OUR    ARTILLERY     FIRE    ON 
TRONES    WOOD    FROM    MONTAUBAN 

The  drawing  expresses  well  the  singular  aspect  of  the 
parts  of  the  battlefield  where  artillery  fire  was  heavy  and 
where  the  conical  holes  made  in  the  ground  by  high 
explosive  shells  were  consequently  close  together.  At  a 
later  stage  these  separate  pock-marks  overlap,  like  the  pits 
in  confluent  small-pox,  and  the  whole  of  the  shelled 
ground  becomes  soft  and  loose,  as  though  raked  deeply 
but  unevenly.  In  the  distance  the  detached  higher  puft's 
of  smoke  from  bursting  shrapnel  are  distinguishable  from 
the  rising  clouds  of  smoke  from  high-explosive  shells. 


XXXV  (a  and  b) 

IN   THE   REGAINED  TERRITORY 

Both  the  places  drawn  were  in  German  hands  until  July. 
The  first  drawing  is  of  a  cemetery  found  behind  the  old 
German  front  line  near  Fricourt.  There  were  many 
imperfectly  marked  German  graves  near  these.  They 
have  since  been  marked,  as  many  thousands  of  hurriedly 
made  British  graves  have  been,  with  wooden  crosses  and 
metal  inscriptions  by  our  Graves'  Registration  and  Inquiries 
Units. 

The  second  drawing,  with  a  helmeted  sentry  at  the  sand- 
bagged entrance  to  a  dug-out,  conveys  the  sinister  air  of  a 
village  destroyed,  but  not  quite  effaced,  by  shell-fire. 


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XXXVI 

A    V.A.D.    REST    STATION 

At  a  base  railway  station  in  France.  Between  the  arrivals 
of  hospital  trains  from  the  front  the  V.A.D.  workers 
occupy  themselves  in  the  "  dispensary "  in  rolling 
bandages  or  preparing  hot  cocoa  and  other  food  for  the 
wounded  or  sick  men  who  w^ill  pass  through  the  station. 


Z^'**/ 


XXXVII 

A   GATEWAY   AT   ARRAS 

A  few  hundred  yards  from  this  gate  the  Anglo-French 
treaty  of  peace  was  signed  after  Agincourt.  Part  of  the 
city's  later  history  is  written  in  the  curious  and  beautiful 
Spanish  architecture  of  its  chief  squares.  It  is  now  in  the 
middle  stage  of  destruction :  almost  every  building  is 
shattered  or  injured,  but  enough  is  standing  to  make  the 
empty  city  seem  still  sensitive,  in  its  very  stones,  under  the 
enemy's  random  shellfire. 


XXXVIII 

OUTSIDE    ARRAS,    NEAR    THE    GERMAN 

LINES 

At  Arras  the  Germans  always  seem  very  near  you.  In 
fact  they  are.  No  other  famous  town  in  the  Allies' 
hands  has  a  German  front  trench  in  its  suburbs  ;  nowhere 
do  the  two  front  trenches  come  so  close  to  each  other. 
The  result  is  a  subtle  quality  of  apprehensiveness 
in  the  atmosphere  of  the  silent  empty  city.  It 
seems  like  someone  standing  on  tiptoe,  peering  and 
listening,  in  a  solitary  place,  for  some  vague  unseen 
danger,  or  like  a  horse  nervously  pricking  its  ears,  you 
cannot  tell  why.  This  tingle  of  uncanny  dread 
has  been  conveyed  with  remarkable  success  in  this 
figureless  but  haunted  landscape. 


^■r.-r  *i 


XXXIX 

WATCHING    GERMAN     PRISONERS 

British  soldiers  watching  recently  captured  Germans  on 
their  way  down  from  the  front  to  an  Army  Corps  "  cage." 
Until  removed  to  the  base  our  prisoners  are  well  housed 
in  huts  or  tents  in  a  kind  of  compound  fenced  with  barbed 
wire  and  placed  well  outside  the  range  of  their  friends' 
artillery.  There  are  no  attempts  at  escape.  Our  men, 
behind  the  front  line,  always  watch  the  arrival  of  new 
prisoners  with  silent  curiosity.  Those  of  our  soldiers  who 
have  themselves  fought  with  the  Germans,  and  captured 
them,  usually  befriend  them  with  cigarettes  and  drinks 
from  water-bottles. 


.^.^!p^,,» 


rt-,. 


VH'- 


XL 


ON  THE   SOMME:    "MUD" 

At  a  camp,  near  Albert,  whose  Church,  with  the  image 
knocked  awry,  is  seen  to  the  right.  With  the  permission 
of  the  officer  on  the  left  some  soldiers  are  fishing  in  the 
mud  for  such  fragments  of  old  timber,  boxes  and  tins  as 
may  be  of  use  to  them  in  their  field  housekeeping,  though 
they  are  not  worth  collecting  for  deposit  at  the  official 
Salvage  Dumps. 


TRENCH  SCENERY. 

IN  one  of  these  drawings  Mr.  Bone  gives  a  rousing  glimpse  of  trench 
Hfe  at  a  moment  of  action.  These  are  its  moments  of  transfiguration, 
when  all  the  glow  of  courage,  that  has  been  banked  down  and 
husbanded  through  months  of  waiting  and  guarding,  bursts,  at  a 
word  of  command,  into  flame.  The  rest  of  trench  life  is  work, 
contrivance  and  observation.  It  has  been  called  monotonous.  But,  for 
any  man  who  has  not  lost  the  heart  of  a  boy,  it  has  the  relish  of  an  end- 
lessly changeful  outdoor  adventure,  a  game  with  the  earth  and  the 
weather,  as  well  as  with  the  more  official  enemy. 

No  two  points  in  an  Allied  front  trench  are  wholly  alike.  Certain 
general  patterns  there  are,  but  no  facsimiles.  Each  traverse  or  bay  has 
a  look  of  its  own  ;  it  is  personal  and  expresses,  as  Robinson  Crusoe's 
stockade  might  have  done,  the  nature  of  some  man  or  men  making  shift, 
each  after  his  kind,  to  put  up  what  they  could,  in  the  shortest  time, 
between  their  bodies  and  danger.  A  German  firing  trench  is  less  various. 
In  it  you  seem  to  see  the  minds  of  a  few  large  and  able  contractors  ;  in 
ours  the  minds  of  thousands  of  good  campers-out.  To  put  it  in  another 
way,  the  German  trench  has,  in  some  measure,  the  quality  of  a  long  street 
built,  well  enough,  to  a  single  design  ;    ours  possesses  the  charm  of  a 


strip  of  coast  or  a  long  country  lane,  where  nature  or  man  has  made 
every  indentation  and  turn  a  surprise,  and  each  farmer  has  made  gates 
and  hedges  to  his  own  mind. 

The  line  goes  through  wonderful  places  and  charges  them  with 
singular  thrills  of  romance.  It  has  made  windmills  famous  as  forts,  and 
brought  herons  into  the  suburbs  of  cities.  In  one  place  it  runs  across 
water  and  land  so  intermixed  that  the  sentries  of  both  armies  are  upon 
little  islands  crowned  with  breast-works  like  grouse  butts  ;  you  see  them, 
when  the  winter  evening  falls,  standing  immobile,  waist-deep  in  mist, 
each  man  about  forty  yards  from  his  enemy.  Men  have  stood  there,  turn 
by  turn,  for  two  years  and  a  half,  moving  softly  and  whispering  as  if  in  a 
church,  till  the  shyest  of  wildfowl  have  learnt  to  treat  the  surrounding  marsh 
as  their  own,  and  the  only  sound  is  of  wild  duck  and  snipe  astir  between 
the  muzzles  of  two  nations'  loaded  rifles,  snipe  safe  among  the  snipers. 
At  more  than  one  place  the  two  front  lines  converge  until  each  sentry 
knows  that  he  is  within  a  gentle  bomb's  throw  of  the  enemy.  Out  of  the 
firing  trench,  at  one  of  these  places,  you  walk  on  tiptoe  along  a  short  sap 
that  halves  this  short  distance,  and  from  its  end  you  look  up  at  a  small 
heap  of  rubble — a  couple  of  cart-loads — and  know  that  some  German 
is  cautiously  listening,  like  you,  on  its  further  side. 

Those  are  the  cramped  and  contorted  parts  of  the  front.  A  few  miles 
away  it  will  straighten  and  loose  itself  out  ;  you  see  it  run  free,  in  great, 
easy  curves,  up  the  slopes  of  wide  moorlands,  the  two  front  lines  drawn 
apart  almost  three  hundred  yards.  Each  is  a  double  band  of  colour  ;  the 
white  ribbon  of  its  dug  chalk  and  the  broader  rust-brown  ribbon  of  its 
tangled  wire  stand  out  clear  against  the  shabby  velveteen  grey  of  the 
heath.  Here  there  is  less  of  thrill  and  more  of  ease  in  trench  life  ;  by  day 
the  sentries  peer,  hour  by  hour,  into  the  baffling  mist  that  is  woven 
across  their  sight  by  our  own  and  the  enemy's  wire  ;  it  is  like  trying 
to  see  through  low  and  leafless,  but  thick,  undergrowth.  By  night  the 
wire  makes,  to  the  sentry's  eye,  a  middle  stratum  of  opaque  dark  grey, 
between  the  full  blackness  of  the  earth  below  it  and  the  more  penetrable 
obscurity  of  the  night  air  above.  But  the  darkness  is  never  trusted  for 
long.  All  night  each  army  is  sending  up  rocket-like  lights  to  burst  and 
hang  like  arc  lamps  in  the  air  over  the  firing  trench  of  the  other.  From 
a  commanding  point  you  can  see,  at  any  moment  of  any  night,  scores 
of  these  ascending  rockets,  each  like  a  line  drawn  on  the  dark  with  a 
pencil  of  flame,  arching  over  to  intersect  each  other  near  the  zenith  of 
their  flight,  incessantly  tracing  and  re-tracing  the  lines  of  a  Gothic  nave 
over  all  No  Man's  Land,  from  the  Alps  to  the  sea.    All  night,  too,  there 


is  a  kind  of  pulse  of  light  in  the  sky,  along  the  whole  front,  from  the 
flash  of  guns.  From  the  trenches  the  flash  itself  can  seldom  be  seen,  but 
the  sky  winks  and  winks  from  moment  to  moment  with  the  spread  and 
contraction  of  a  trembling  radiance  like  summer  lightning. 

At  most  parts  of  the  line  a  man  in  the  front  trench  is  cut  off  from 
landscape.  To  look  at  a  tree  behind  the  enemy's  lines  may  be  to  give 
a  mark  to  a  sniper  hidden  in  its  boughs.  By  day  you  see  the  upper  half 
of  the  dome  of  the  sky,  and,  through  loopholes,  a  few  yards  of  rough 
earth  or  chalk,  then  the  nebulous  wire  and,  through  its  thin  places,  perhaps 
a  few  uniforms,  blue,  grey  or  brown,  lying  beyond,  among  the  coarse 
grass  and  weeds.  At  night  you  see  all  the  stars  well,  and  on  moonlight 
nights,  if  you  walk  the  trench  softly,  you  can  watch  strange  friezes  sharply 
silhouetted  on  the  sky  line  of  the  parapet,  the  wars  and  loves  of  capering 
rats,  "  flouting  the  ivory  moon."  Whole  choirs  of  larks  may  be  heard  : 
neither  cannon  nor  small  arms  seem  to  alarm  them  ;  and  most  of  the 
ground  has  its  own  hawk  to  quarter  it  daily. 

To  men  put  on  this  short  allowance  of  natural  sights  and  sounds 
it  is  an  extraordinary  pleasure  to  find  in  the  rear  of  their  trench  a  clean 
rivulet,  such  as  often  occurs  in  chalk  land,  where  the  surface  water  filters 
rapidly  in  and  comes  out  at  the  bases  of  slopes  like  so  many  crystal  springs. 
But  the  greatest  of  all  trench  delights  is  the  re-discovery,  every  year, 
of  the  sun.  Some  day  in  March  it  is  suddenly  found  to  have  a  miraculous 
warmth,  and  everybody  off  duty  comes  out  like  the  bees  and  stands  about 
in  the  trench,  sunning  his  head  and  shoulders  in  the  tepid  rays  and 
adoring — quite  inarticulately — and  feeling  that  all's  well  with  the  world. 
A  winter  in  trenches  revives,  in  us  children  of  civilisation,  a  pre- 
Promethean  rapture  of  love  for  the  sun  ;  and  the  dark  nights,  in  which 
not  a  match  must  be  struck,  makes  us,  at  any  rate,  think  more  highly 
than  ever  we  did  of  the  moon,  which  halves  the  strain  of  the  soldier  on 
guard,  and  of  the  stars  which  guide  him  back  overland  to  his  billet,  at 
a  relief,  to  sleep  in  Elysium.  So,  for  a  man  who  has  all  his  senses  alive 
and  unjaded,  the  hard  and  bare  life  has  its  compensations.  It  makes  him 
do  without  many  things  ;  but  it  also  quickens  delight  in  the  things 
which  are  at  the  base  of  all  the  rest,  and  without  which  there  could  not 
have  been  the  incomparable  adventure  and  spectacle  of  life  on  the  earth. 


G.  H.  Q.,  France. 
February.  191 7. 


XI.I 


CASSEL 


Cassel  has  no  great  part  in  this  war.  But  it  has  endured 
ancient  sieges  ;  three  notable  battles  have  taken  its  name 
since  1070  ;  the  last  of  them  led  to  the  annexation  of 
Cassel  to  France  in  1678  and  gave  her  a  town  finely  set 
on  a  hill  amidst  lowlands,  and  equally  good  to  look  at  and 
look  from.  The  many  windmills  about  it  give  Cassel  an 
air  of  liveliness  as  you  approach,  and  this  cheerful  effect 
is  maintained  on  reaching  the  main  square,  drawn  by 
Mr.  Bone,  with  its  lightsome  spaciousness  and  comfortable, 
well-proportioned  houses.  The  eyes  of  passing  Scottish 
soldiers  find  a  familiar  look  in  the  "  step  "  gables  of  many 
of  Cassel's  roofs.    One  is  seen  on  the  right. 


XLII 


A    LINE   OF   TANKS 

Thanks  to  the  imaginative  power  of  the  artist,  the  "  Tank  " 
is  here  seen  not  as  the  British  soldier  sees  it — a  friendly 
giant  with  lovably  droll  tricks  of  gait  and  gesture — but 
as  it  must  look  to  a  threatened  enemy,  the  very  embodiment 
of  momentum  irresistibly  grinding  its  way  towards  its 
prey.  In  the  presence  of  "  tanks  "  as  here  drawn — though 
there  is  no  trace  of  exaggeration  in  the  drawing — the 
spectator  is  as  a  crushed  worm  and,  in  fact,  finds  there 
is  more  force  in  that  phrase  than  he  knew. 


I 


XLIII 

A    KITCHEN   IN   THE    FIELD 

One  of  the  improvements  in  our  field  organisation  since 
the  early  part  of  the  war  is  the  more  general  provision  of 
hot  meals  for  the  men  in  the  front  trenches.  From  cook- 
houses like  the  one  shown  in  the  drawing,  or  from  travelling 
field  kitchens,  the  hot  stew'  and  tea  are  brought  up  the 
communication  trench  in  dixies,  two  to  a  platoon,  each 
dixie  being  slung  from  a  pole  carried  on  two  men's 
shoulders.  The  cooks  work  under  shell  fire  and  manv 
have  been  killed. 


<^^&-=; 


XLIV 

THE  GUN   PIT:   HARDENING  THE  STEEL 

The  drawing  shows  one  of  the  most  thrilUng  moments  in 
the  making  of  a  great  gun.  The  doors  of  the  furnace  have 
just  been  thrown  back  and  the  heated  gun  tube  is  about 
to  be  hfted  by  the  giant  pincers  of  the  crane. 


XLV 


THE  GUN  PIT:  A  GUN  JACKET  ENTERING 

THE  OIL  TANK 

The  gun  jacket  shown  here  has  just  been  heated  in  the 
furnace  and  is  about  to  plunge  into  its  oil  bath.  The 
spectacle  is  always  striking,  especially  at  dusk,  when  the 
fierce  glow  of  the  huge  mass  of  metal  seems  more  brilliant 
than  ever.     The  passage  is  made  in  a  few  seconds. 


XLVI 

THE  GUN  PIT:  THE  GREAT  CLUTCHES 
OF  THE  CRANE 

The  figures  in  the  foreground  give  a  scale  by  which  to 
judge  the  size  and  power  of  the  crane  that  handles  the 
heavier  guns  in  the  gun  pit.  The  tube  has  now  been 
lifted  from  the  oil  tank  and  waits  to  be  carried  back  to  the 
gun  shop  lathes. 


XLVII 

MOUNTING    A    GREAT    GUN 

This  is  one  of  the  largest  guns.  At  such  a  scene  as  its 
mounting  one  is  always  struck  by  the  contrast  between  the 
restless  stir  of  the  minute  figures  busy  about  it  and  the 
massive  impassivity — for  the  present — of  the  thing  they 
have  created.  "A  great  gun,"  it  has  been  said,  "is  so 
sheer.''  In  a  gun  shop  it  dwarfs  everything  round  it  and 
seems  the  embodiment,  at  the  same  time,  of  immobility 
and  of  menace. 


XLVIII 

"  THE   HALL  OF  THE  MILLION   SHELLS  " 

A  store  containing  loaded  shells  of  every  calibre.  All  the 
plant  has  been  made  since  19 14,  in  answer  to  the  challenge 
of  German  militarism.  The  railway  trucks  in  the  fore- 
ground are  incessantly  filled  and  refilled  from  the  supplies 
pouring  into  the  store  for  dispatch  to  the  front.  Women 
drive  the  cranes  that  gather  up  bunches  of  shells  from 
any  part  of  the  building  and  lower  them,  with  absolute 
precision,  to  their  appointed  places  in  the  trucks.  All 
handling  of  shells  must  be  cautious  and  deliberate,  but  the 
work  proceeds,  without  haste  and  without  rest,  at  a 
remarkable  speed. 


t 


XLIX 

THE  RUINED  TOWER  OF  B£C0RDEL- 

BECOURT 

The  village  of  Becordel-Becourt  is  just  on  the  AlHes'  side 
of  the  front  hne  as  it  was  before  the  Battle  of  the  Somme. 
It  has,  therefore,  sustained  only  the  German  artillery  fire, 
not  that  of  both  armies  in  turn.  Hence  the  survival  of  this 
comparatively  large  fragment  of  the  village  church. 


-^0i^ 


EMBARKING    THE    WOUNDED 

Sketched  at  night  at  a  Port  of  embarkation  of  the  wounded. 

Owing  to  the  low  tide  the  "  stretcher  cases  "  or  "  lying 
wounded  "  had  all  to  be  carried  underneath  the  pier  to  the 
level  of  the  hospital  ship.  7  his  meant  very  hard  work  for 
the  stretcher  bearers,  and  one  is  here  seen  resting  a 
moment  while  the  previous  stretcher  is  being  carefully 
taken  aboard  to  be  lowered  by  the  lift  from  the  deck  to  the 
large  wards  below. 


'•V- 


LI   (a  and  b) 

MONT    ST.    ELOI 

In  the  left  centre  are  the  tall  ruins  of  the  large  church  of 
the  monaster}'  at  Mont  St.  Eloi,  a  little  hill  about  five 
miles  north-west  of  Arras.  The  hill  is  a  splendid  view- 
point, commanding  the  Vimy  Ridge,  the  German  lines 
between  Neuville  St.  Vaast  and  Thelus,  the  city  of  Arras 
itself,  the  wood  of  Souchez  and  the  slopes  of  Notre  Dame 
de  Lorette.  On  the  ground  for  many  miles  north  and 
north-east  of  it  the  French  fought  with  heroic  determination 
in  the  advances  which  gained  them  Carency,  Souchez  and 
Notre  Dame  de  Lorette  in  191 5. 


RUINS    OF    MAMETZ 

Mametz  must  have  been  one  of  the  pleasantest  of  the 
villages  on  the  Somme  battlefield.  It  was  built  on  a  gentle 
slope,  facing  south,  a  little  way  off  the  dusty  main  road 
from  Albert  to  Peronne,  and  large,  shady  trees  were 
intermingled  with  the  houses.  The  drawing  shows  what 
was  left  of  the  village  after  its  capture  in  the  beginning  of 
July.  The  tall  fragment  of  the  parish  church  stands  in 
the  centre  of  the  drawing. 


'Sfe^, 


:*i"«^' 


v'*r-5-#^it,v, 


V*-»>f^^^rf--v^,^,.  , 


LI  I 


RUINED   TRENCHES    IN  MAMETZ   WOOD 

In  this  one  drawing  may  be  seen  the  face  of  all  the  hard- 
fought  woods  of  the  Somme  battlefield — Mametz,  Fricourt, 
Bazentin,  Delville,  Thiepval,  Foureaux  and  St.  Pierre 
Vaast.  Everywhere  in  them  all  there  is  the  same  close 
network  of  half-filled  trenches,  the  same  bristle  of  ruined 
tree  trunks,  the  same  litter  of  the  leavings  of  prolonged 
fighting  at  close  quarters — bits  of  broken  rifles  and  bayonets, 
perforated  helmets,  unexploded  hand  grenades,  fragments 
of  shell,  displaced  sand-bags,  broken  stretchers,  boots  not 
quite  empty,  and  shreds  of  uniform  and  equipment. 


LIII 


"  THAWING    OUT  " 

It  is  always  cold  in  an  aeroplane  in  flight,  but  in  winter 
the  cold  endured  by  airmen  is  often  atrocious,  however 
perfect  their  equipment.  A  pilot,  who  has  just  come 
down  from  his  three  hours  of  duty  in  the  air,  is  here  seen 
thawing  out  "  over  a  spirit  stove  in  his  tent.  Like  the 
thawing  of  meat  taken  from  cold  storage,  the  process 
requires  some  patience. 


LIV 


DISEMBARKING 

At  a  base  port  in  France.  Officers  are  disembarking 
from  the  upper  deck.  Many  officers  arrive  under  orders 
simply  to  "  proceed  overseas."  At  the  "A.  M.  L.  O. 
Office  "  they  receive,  through  the  Assistant  MiUtary 
Landing  Officer,  exact  orders  where  to  go  and  what  to  do. 
The  men  on  the  lower  deck  disembark  by  a  second  gangway 
and  the  boat  is  cleared  in  a  few  minutes. 


LV 


SLEEPING  WOUNDED   FROM   THE  SOMME 

Ever}'  soldier  on  active  service  has  more  or  less  of  deferred 
sleep,  as  well  as  deferred  pay,  due  to  him.  If  he  be  wounded 
he  usually  recovers  a  large  instalment  of  both — -the  former 
during  his  first  nights  and  days  in  hospital,  the  latter  when 
he  leaves  the  convalescent  hospital  for  the  ten  days'  sick 
leave  given  to  all  wounded  or  sick  men  who  have  been 
sent  to  England  for  treatment. 


i\.UCg>..t:      ■>.. 


LVI 


DISTANT    AMIENS 

As  you  walk  southward  from  Amiens,  across  meadows 
and  cornfields,  the  ground  rises  more  gently  than  the 
immediate  south  bank  of  the  Somme,  on  which  the 
Cathedral  and  the  City  stand.  Thus  the  city  sinks  gradually 
out  of  sight  until  nothing  is  left  but  the  thin  Cathedral 
spire,  looking  like  the  mast  of  a  sunken  ship.  Mr.  Bone's 
drawing  was  done  from  a  point,  about  a  mile  south  of  the 
city,  at  which  the  Cathedral  roof,  the  tower  of  Saint 
Martin's  Church,  and  one  or  two  factory  chimneys  are 
still  unsubmerged. 


•^ 


I  ( 


),1 

it 


i 


if; 


><* 


LVII 


SCOTTISH  SOLDIERS  IN  A  FRENCH  BARN 

A  typical  billet  for  troops  on  the  march  or  enjoying  a 
"  Divisional  rest  "  between  two  turns  of  duty  in  the 
trenches.  An  average-sized  barn  at  a  French  farm  will 
house  about  thirty  men.  If  the  straw  be  deep  and  the  roof 
sound  it  makes  better  quarters  than  anything  but  a  good 
bedroom.  Its  chief  drawback  in  the  men's  eyes  is  that 
smoking  has  to  be  forbidden  because  of  the  straw.  In  the 
winter  evenings  the  men  usually  cross  the  farmyard  to 
the  kitchen,  where  they  smoke  and  make  friends  with  the 
farmer,  and  buy  coffee,  at  a  penny  a  bowl,  from  his  wife. 


"*^. 


'i*~~: 


jti^f-,^'*^--*' 


*¥- 


3^«i5- 


LVIII 

WELSH   SOLDIERS 

Characteristic  trench  attitudes,  two  of  the  men  with  their 
heads  well  down,  the  cheek  cuddling  the  small  of  the  butt, 
while  the  N.C.O.  beyond  directs  their  fire,  with  his  head 
a  little  free.  There  is  just  the  same  soldierly  combination 
of  "  much  care  and  valour  "  in  the  typical  Welshman  in 
France   to-day   as   there   was   in    Shakespeare's    Fluellen. 


A  BRITISH    RED    CROSS    DEPO  F    AT 
BOULOGNE 

Dead  low  water  in  Boulogne  Harbour,  and  a  slack  time 
for  the  motor  ambulances  parked  on  the  quay  above.  The 
work  of  the  R.A.INI.C.  inevitably  comes  in  rushes,  with 
lulls  in  between.  The  great  thing  is,  when  a  rush  comes, 
to  treat  every  case  with  a  rapidity  exactly  proportioned 
to  its  urgency,  removing  instantly  to  the  base  hospitals 
or  to  England  every  serious  case  which  will  be  the  better, 
or  none  the  worse,  for  a  slight  delay  in  operation.  To  work 
this  system  perfectly  there  must  always  be  in  readiness, 
at  every  point  where  wounded  are  entrained  or  transhipped, 
a  supply  of  ambulances  equal  to  the  maximum  call. 


:4  1^  ••  ^  ^T' 


LX 


INDIAN    CAVALRY 


Our  Indian  Cavalry  on  the  Somme  were  given  a  chance 
of  showing  their  quaUty  at  the  Bois  de  Foureaux  on 
July  17th,  1916.  They  used  it.  Apart  from  other  soldierly 
qualities,  the  grave  dignity  of  their  bearing  impresses  all 
foreign  visitors  to  the  battlefield.  They  always  salute  a 
passing  officer  as  if  they  were  Kings  and  he  an  Emperor. 


THE  UPPER   HAND 


IN  these  better  days  it  is  no  harm  to  speak  of  the  time  when  the 
Marne  had  been  won  and  yet  our  Army  in  France  was  within  an 
inch  of  its  Hfe.  The  thread  of  its  fate  had  frayed  very  thin  ;  only 
one  strand  remained  ;  at  last,  not  even  that — what  had  taken  its 
place  was  a  gallant  sham,  a  last  forlorn  bluff,  scarcely  a  hope.  And  then 
came  the  ancient  reward  of  those  who  fight  on  without  hope.  Like 
a  storm  that  had  blown  itself  out,  the  strain  was  suddenly  gone.  The 
strong  had  not  known  all  their  strength,  the  weak  had  steadfastly  hidden 
their  weakness,  and  they  had  worn  out  the  strong. 

That  extreme  peril  has  never  recurred.  But  there  were  months  in 
19 1 5  when  men  in  our  trenches  still  felt  that  the  upper  hand  was  not 
theirs.  What  would  happen  was  this.  Once  or  twice  in  the  day  the 
Germans,  after  their  meals,  would  spray  a  piece  of  our  trench  with 
trench-mortar  bombs  and  rifle-grenades.     As  a  rule  they  did  not  mean 


to  attack,  in  the  fuller  sense.  The  piece  was  not  an  overture ;  it  was 
complete  in  itself;  a  sort  of  isolated  pas  d' intimidation.  Not  many  men 
on  our  side  would  be  killed.  But,  while  the  shower  went  on,  everyone 
on  duty  in  our  firing  trench  felt  with  crystal  clearness  that  he  was  on  the 
defensive.  At  each  fresh  discharge  he  would  plaster  himself  upon  the 
front  wall  of  the  trench  and  gaze  upwards  for  the  coming  evil.  If  he 
saw  the  approaching  waddle  of  a  trench-mortar  bomb,  wagging  its  tail 
through  the  air,  he  would  judge  it  like  a  catch  in  the  long  field,  only  with 
an  ardent  desire  to  miss  it ;  and  to  this  end  he  would  jump  round  corners 
of  trench  and  put  solid  angles  of  earth  between  him  and  the  large  muted 
sound  like  "  pfloonk  "  that  was  to  ensue.  If  what  he  heard  was  the  thin 
hiss  or  spit  of  a  rifle  grenade,  then  he  knew  that  it  could  not  be  seen, 
and  he  kept  his  head  down  and  wondered  how  near  the  venomous  little 
metallic  smash  of  the  burst  would  be.  In  any  case  he  was  bespattered, 
throughout  the  bombardment,  with  little  falling  bits  of  earth,  warm 
metals  and  products  of  combustion  ;  the  tinkling  of  this  hail  on  his  helmet 
deepened  his  rueful  sense  of  resemblance  to  a  hen  crouching  under  the 
lee  of  a  hedge  in  bad  weather.  And,  all  this  time,  our  own  mortars  and 
guns  would  be  silent  or — almost  worse  than  silence  itself — would  reply 
with  the  mildness  of  Sterne's  patient  ass.  "  Please  do  not  shell  our  front 
trench.     But,  if  you  want  to,  you  may,"  so  they  seemed  to  be  saying. 

From  these  mortifications  the  men  in  the  firing  trench,  and  the 
gunners  who  had  endured  the  sharper  torment  of  not  being  able  to  help 
them,  were  saved  by  the  women,  whom  Mr.  Bone  shows  us  working  at 
home,  arming  their  knights  for  battle  in  a  sense  more  valid  than  any 
known  to  Froissart  or  Malory.  There  came  a  time,  most  moving  and 
memorable  to  all  who  were  then  in  our  trenches,  when  any  German 
attempt  to  gall  them  began  to  evoke  new,  heart-warming  sounds.  All 
the  upper  air,  over  the  place  where  the  pelted  sentries  were  crouching, 
seemed  to  have  come  to  life  on  our  side.  At  last  our  own  trench  mortars 
were  answering,  not  in  a  few  grudged  monosyllables,  but  volubly,  out  of 
the  fulness  of  the  dump.  Higher  up  also,  there  rose  arch  over  arch,  as 
it  were,  of  audible,  reassuring  protection  -first  the  low-pitched  bridges  of 
sound  traced  by  the  whizz  of  our  field  guns,  and  then  the  vast  rainbow 
curve  of  our  heavier  shells  making  wing,  high  over  head,  with  a  more 
august,    leisurely   waft   that   sounded    divinely.      It  was  a  changed  and 


cheered  world  to  be  living  in.  We  had  the  upper  hand  now,  and  every 
woman  turning  a  shell  or  driving  a  crane  in  England  had  helped  us  to 
have  it. 

We  have  it  now  still  more  securely.  Since  that  time  we  have  learnt 
the  technique  of  attack— how  to  keep  what  we  take  and  how  to  take 
what  we  want  at  no  more  than  it  need  cost  in  lives.  We  have  won,  in 
hard  fight,  the  best  of  all  posts  of  observation — the  sky,  so  that  during 
the  great  engagements  last  year  on  the  Somme  there  was  not  a  German 
aeroplane  to  be  seen  in  the  air  while  ours  were  ranging  everywhere  over 
the  battlefield,  each  with  its  eyes  on  the  enemy's  lines  and  its  voice  at  the 
ear  of  our  guns.  Our  men  and  the  gunners  have  now  crossed  bayonets 
so  often  that  all  the  old  awe  in  which  Europe  held  the  men  of  Sedan  and 
Sadowa  is  gone  ;  boys  from  Wiltshire  and  Worcestershire  farms,  recruits 
of  a  few  months  before,  have  chased  Prussian  guardsmen  uphill  out  of 
their  trenches  and  then  held  these  ruined  defences  against  all  that  those 
picked  products  of  intensive  military  culture  could  do  to  regain  them. 

All  this  turning  of  tables  has  been  brought  about  by  one  cause,  in 
the  sense  that  if  that  cause  had  been  absent,  the  care  and  skill  of  the 
finest  leaders,  the  daring  of  all  our  airmen,  the  staunchness  of  all  our 
infantry  would  have  been  strength  to  no  purpose.  Munition  workers 
have  woven  the  curtain  of  smoke  that  our  gunners  now  draw  between  our 
advancing  troops  and  the  eyes  of  their  enemy.  It  is  munitions  that, 
thrown  from  our  howitzers,  make  level  roads  through  the  tangles  of  wire 
on  which,  in  the  old  days,  the  corpses  of  whole  platoons  of  our  men  were 
hung  up  to  rot  and  look,  from  far  off,  like  washing  put  out  to  dry  on 
thorned  hedges.  It  is  munitions  that,  when  we  attack,  hold  back  the 
hostile  supports  behind  a  wall  of  falling  bullets  as  hard  to  pass  as  Adam 
found  the  flaming  sword  at  the  gate.  It  is,  then,  not  without  reason  that 
in  this  sheaf  of  drawings  of  the  war  on  the  W^estern  front  are  included 
some  drawings  of  guns  and  shells  in  the  making.  They  are  drawings  of 
victory  in  the  making,  and  of  the  saving  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
British  lives. 

G.H.Q.,  France, 

{March,    I  917 


LXI 


MOUNTING  A  GREAT  GUN 

One  of  the  largest  guns  viewed  from  the  breech.  However 
many  large  guns  may  have  been  turned  out  by  the  same 
men  before,  a  glow  of  pride  is  always  felt  in  a  gun  shop 
when  one  more  masterpiece  like  this  is  ready  at  last  to  go 
out  to  its  work  in  the  field. 


LXII 


ERECTING   AEROPLANES 

A  great  contrast  to  the  scenes  in  the  gun  shop.  Here 
everything  is  light  and  deUcate,  the  bright,  varnished  wood 
curved  to  delicate  shapes  like  violins,  the  women  flitting 
with  their  needlecraft  around  the  wide,  dazzling  planes  and 
the  brilliant  pigmy  engines  shining  like  jewels — all  seem 
gay  and  exhilarating  after  the  sombre  company  of  the  guns. 
There  is  even  a  lightsome  airiness  about  the  thought  that 
these  delicate  creations  fly  away  from  their  makers'  hands 
when  completed  and  do  not  burden  anv  railway  with  their 
transit. 


LXIII 

AN  AEROPLANE   ON  THE   STOCKS 

Another  view  of  the  same  shop.  Close  to,  the  propeller 
seems  a  great  thing,  wonderfully  subtle  in  its  graceful 
curves. 


LXIV 

THE   GIANT   SLOTTERS 

These  machines  are  among  the  largest  of  their  kind.  A 
row  of  them,  jutting  colossally  forward  Hke  the  heads  of 
Egyptian  sculptured  lions,  make  an  impressive  feature  in 
the  spacious  avenues  of  a  great  machine  shop.  The  nearer 
machine  is  at  work  on  part  of  a  big  gun  mounting. 


LXV 


NIGHT   WORK   ON  THE    BREECH   OF   A 

GREAT   GUN 

The  breech  is  open  :  underneath  it,  hidden  from  sight,  the 
mechanics  are  at  work.  Such  a  scene  has  a  special  appeal 
to  those  who  loved  the  stories  of  Jules  Verne  in  their 
youth.  These  largest  of  all  guns  seem  as  if  they  could 
fulfil  the  hopes  of  Verne's  sanguine  President  of  the  Gun 
Club  and  justify  his  fervid  belief  in  ballistics  as  your  only 
science. 


LXVI 

THE    HOWITZER   SHOP 

Howitzers  of  various  calibres  are  in  the  background  ;  in  the 
foreground,  guns  of  lighter  types.  Guns  are  like  ships  ; 
each  piece  seems  endowed  with  a  personality,  which  endears 
it  to  its  creators.  The  soldiers  to  whose  keeping  they  are 
sent  feel  a  similar  tenderness  towards  their  own  special 
charge.  They  express  it  by  giving  them  fond  names  like 
"  Saucy  Sue,"  "  Sweet  Seventeen,"  "  Jill  Johnson,"  "  Our 
Lizzie,"  and  "  'Ria." 


4UTr^ 


LXVII 

THE   NIGHT   SHIFT  WORKING  ON  A  BIG 

GUN 

"  A  scene,"  the  artist  writes,  "  so  romantic  in  its  mingling 
of  grimness  and  mystery  that  one  thinks  with  compunction 
of  the  long  line  of  romantic  artists  whose  lot  it  was  not  to 
have  seen  it !  "  The  work  on  hand  seems  carried  on  by 
noiseless  ghosts,  so  completely  is  the  noise  of  their  labours 
drowned  by  the  incessant  hum  of  machines. 


LXVIII 

SOME    GREAT    GUNS 

A  sketch  in  the  heavy  gun  bay.  The  size  of  these  un- 
mounted guns  may  be  judged  by  the  figures  at  work  near 
them. 


LXIX 

MOVING   HEAVY   GUN  TUBES 

This  is  a  corner  in  the  gun  shop  where  heavy  gun  forgings 
of  all  sorts  lie  about,  awaiting  their  turn  on  the  machines. 
The  overhead  crane  is  lifting  one  of  the  guns.  Many  of 
these  cranes  are  being  driven  by  women. 


LXX 

A  CORING  MACHINE   AT   WORK   ON 
A   BIG  GUN  TUBE 

The  big  gun  tube  is  rotating  slowly  while  the  tool  inside 
scoops  out  long  shavings  of  the  metal  like  cheese  parings. 
The  mounting  heaps  of  the  metal  shavings  are  constantly 
cleared  away.  The  iridescent  colours  of  these  shavings 
(showing  the  different  temperings  of  the  steel)  present 
surprisingly  beautiful  effects  to  the  eye,  tired  with  the 
bewildering  rotations  of  the  immense  gun  tubes  on  their 
machines. 


LXXI 

RUINS  NEAR   ARRAS 

Landscape  near  Arras  is  like  the  biblical  vine  hanging  over 
a  wall — "  All  the  archers  have  shot  at  her."  Injured,  but 
not  yet  destroyed,  the  woods  seem  like  creatures  scared,  as 
if  the  trees  themselves  were  possessed  with  the  disquiet  of 
dryads  crouching  somewhere  in  hiding.  Many  different 
parts  of  the  front  have  their  own  almost  personal  expression, 
but  it  is  seldom  one  of  fear.  At  and  around  Arras  this 
expression  of  alarm  is  so  curiously  strong  that,  if  he 
transgressed  prose,  the  visitor  might  fancy  the  taut 
bulrushes  were  nature's  hair  standing  on  end,  and  a  slight 
stir  in  the  poplars  her  shudder.  By  some  means,  which  a 
layman  cannot  mark  down,  Mr.  Bone  has  suffused  his 
drawing  with  his  own  sense  of  the  tragic  queerness  of  this 
vacuous  and  unnerved  landscape. 


LXXII 

ON  THE   SOMME  :   IN  THE   OLD   NO 
MAN'S  LAND 

High  ground  near  "  King  George's  Hill,"  whence  the  King 
viewed  the  main  battlefield  of  19 16;  the  drawing  shows 
this  in  the  distance.  The  foreground  was  won  last  July  by 
the  Manchesters.  They  found  in  No  Man's  Land  the 
bodies  of  many  Frenchmen  killed  in  earlier  fighting,  and 
buried  them  beside  their  own  dead.  Not  all  the  bodies 
could  be  identified  :  Some  of  the  crosses  shown  in  the 
drawing  bear  such  inscriptions  as  "  In  honoured  Memory 
of  Two  Unknown  French  Soldiers,  buried  here." 


h-> 


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LXXIII  (a  and  b) 

A   ROAD   NEAR   THE    FRONT 

The  canvas  screen  on  the  left  remains  from  a  time  when 
this  stretch  of  road  was  under  enemy  observation.  The 
battle  of  the  Somme  has  left  it  far  behind  the  front.  From 
a  point  just  beyond  the  trees  indicated  upon  the  skyline  on 
the  right  every  detail  of  a  part  of  the  fighting  on  July  ist, 
19 16,  could  be  seen. 


A   TRAIN  OF   LORRIES 

Whether  on  the  road  between  a  rail-head  and  the  front,  or 
during  a  halt  by  the  way,  or  at  rest  in  their  own  park,  the 
lorries  of  a  Division  keep  their  proper  distance  or  interval 
from  each  other,  like  men  on  parade.  If  one  falls  lame  it 
is  taken  in  tow  ;  if  disabled  past  towing,  it  falls  out  and 
waits  for  a  first-aid  mobile  workshop  to  come  and  repair  it. 
The  scene  here  is  one  of  the  two  chief  roads  to  the  Somme 
front.  In  July  and  August,  1916,  tiic  procession  of  lorries 
along  it  was  often  unbroken  for  several  miles.  Field 
railways  have  much  lightened  its  traffic  since  tiicn. 


^' 


LXXIV 

ON  THE  SOMME.      R.F.C.   MEN  BUILDING 
THEIR  WINTER   HUT 

To  most  English  soldiers  it  is  one  of  the  compensations^ 
and  not  of  the  hardships,  of  active  service  that  they  so  often 
have  to  do  work  which  is  not  their  own  trade  nor  a  regular 
part  of  all  soldiering.  They  find  a  flavour  of  the  sport  of 
peace-time  camping-out  in  the  work  of  making  or  finding 
their  own  shelter  from  the  weather.  Sometimes  it  is  done, 
as  here,  with  excellent  materials,  sometimes  with  hardly 
any  at  all,  and  the  man  who  has  built  himself  a  rain-proof 
hut,  for  one,  out  of  a  few  old  biscuit  tins,  some  sticks  and 
a  waste  piece  of  corrugated  iron  enjoys  a  special  thrill  of 
triumphant  ingenuity. 


LXXV 

MARICOURT  :   THE   RUINS  OF  THE 

VILLAGE 

Near  Maricourt  the  British  hne  ended,  and  the  French 
began,  during  the  battle  of  the  Somme.  Blue  and  khaki 
were  equally  blended  in  the  endless  lines  of  traffic  passing 
both  ways  through  Maricourt  and  raising  a  barrage  of  dust 
all  along  the  road  to  Bray-sur-Somme.  At  Maricourt  cross- 
roads there  was  a  doubled  post  of  military  police,  one  man 
British  and  one  French,  ready  with  rebuke  or  instruction 
in  either  tongue.  The  place  is  now  several  miles  behind 
the  British  front,  and  its  old  animation  is  gone.  It  and 
the  woods  near  it  are  less  completely  destroyed  than  most 
of  the  neighbouring  villages.  Many  walls  are  standing ; 
even  a  few  roofs  remain. 


LXXVI 

ON  THE   SOMME,   NEAR   MAME TZ 

The  German  front  line,  until  July  ist,  191 6,  run  a  tew 
yards  on  the  spectator's  side  of  the  two  dismounted  figures 
in  the  foreground.  In  the  background  are  the  bare  poles 
of  Mametz  Wood.  The  nearest  figure  can  be  known  for 
an  Australian,  by  his  hat. 


I 


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LXXVII 

A  MARKET   PLACE.      TRANSPORT 
RESTING 

After  work  the  divisional  motor  transport  lorries  return 
methodically  to  their  own  parks.  During  long  journeys 
they  rest  now  and  then,  tucked  into  the  right  of  the  road 
or  standing  in  a  market  place,  while  the  men  eat  their 
haversack  rations.  Mixed  with  the  lorries  here  are  their 
seniors,  the  covered  vans  of  French  country  carriers  and, 
still  older,  the  long,  low,  French  farm  wagons  now  drawn 
by  horses,  but  built,  as  is  shown  by  the  very  low  pole,  for 
draught  oxen.  In  the  market  place  there  wait  also  the  cars 
of  British  staff  officers  visiting  the  town.  The  handsome 
building  in  the  background  has  its  red-brick  facade  set  off 
with  alternating  square  bosses  of  white  stone,  on  each  side 
of  the  windows,  after  the  custom  of  17th  and  early  i8th 
century ,  builders. 


li^ir^ 


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LXXVIII  (a  and  b) 

THE  "BLIGHTY  BOAT"  AND  A  HOSPITAL 

SHIP 

Leaving  a  French  base  port.  The  artist  has  contrived  to 
suggest  in  his  drawing  of  the  homeward  hastening  leave- 
boat  the  happy  eagerness  with  which  the  eyes  and  minds  of 
all  on  board  are  turned  westward.  The  slower  hospital 
ship  is  just  leaving  the  harbour.  There  is  no  possibility 
of  any  honest  failure  to  distinguish,  by  day  or  night,  the 
black  painted  lightless  transport  from  the  hospital  ship 
with  its  gleaming  white  and  light-green  paint  and  its  festal- 
looking  tiers  and  crosses  of  scores  of  brilliant  green  and 
red  lamps. 


SCOTTISH   TROOPS    ON  A   TROOPSHIP 

There  are  some  Scottish  soldiers  on  all  troopships.  On 
this  one  there  were  no  others.  The  Highlanders  on  the 
drawing  have  the  good  fortune  to  be  on  deck  and  also  not 
to  be  crowded.  On  most  troopships  the  men,  if  on  deck, 
look,  at  a  little  distance,  like  a  solid  brown  mass. 


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LXXIX 

TROOPS  RETURNING  FROM  THE  ANCRE 

A  unit  coming  back  from  the  trenches  to  rest  is  unlike 
anything  ever  seen  at  home.  Everyone  is  dead  tired ; 
everyone,  though  washed  and  shaved,  has  caked  mud  on 
his  uniform  ;  most  of  the  men  are  stooping  to  get  well 
under  the  weight  of  their  packs  and  so  ease  the  cut  of  the 
straps  on  their  shoulders ;  cooks  and  a  few  footsore  men 
trail  behind  the  transport  wagons  and  field  kitchens,  taking 
a  tow  with  one  hand.  Odds  and  ends  of  light  baggage  are 
carried  in  little,  almost  toy-like  hand-carts,  the  men  pulling 
them  by  many  ropes  and  pushing  them  from  behind. 
Some  men,  perhaps,  are  wearing  German  helmets.  Every- 
one's face  has  a  look  of  contented  collapse,  the  restful 
reaction  of  senses  and  nerves  relaxed  after  many  days  of 
strained  attention  and  short  sleep.  The  weary  and  happy 
procession  serpentines  slowly  across  the  chalk  downs, 
carried  along  by  the  rhythm  of  the  swing  it  has  learnt  from 
months  of  route  marching  in  England. 


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LXXX 

A   HOSPITAL  SHIP  AT  A   BASE 

The  ship's  large  wooden  Red  Cross,  to  be  illuminated  at 
night  with  electric  lights,  is  seen  near  the  centre  of  the 
drawing. 


> 


THE  BRITISH  NAVY  AND  THE 
WESTERN  FRONT 


OUR  Western  front  is  a  line  that  does  not  really  end  at  the  sea. 
If  it  did,  then  its  left  flank  might  be  turned.  But  its  real  left 
flank  is  not  there.  It  is  somewhere  far  out  on  a  line  that 
runs  north-west  of  Nieuport,  through  and  beyond  the  North 
Sea.  The  British  soldier  in  Belgium  or  France  may  not  see  much  of  the 
Navy  itself.  But  every  day  brings  him  some  proof  that  the  Navy  is 
holding  its  part  of  the  line.  His  letters  never  go  wrong,  and  he  knows 
that,  but  for  the  Fleet,  they  would  have  to  make  their  way  to  him  like 
swimmers  across  a  bay  full  of  sharks.  It  is  faith  in  the  Navy  that  makes 
the  men  going  on  leave  laugh  when  obeying  the  order  to  put  on  life- 
belts on  leaving  harbour.     In  the  soldier's  mind  that  long  left  flank  of 


our  line  is  not  forgotten  but  rather  written  off,  once  for  all,  as  unbreak- 
able. He  puts  much  the  same  sort  of  trust  in  the  power  of  the  Fleet  as 
he  puts  in  the  affection  of  friends  at  home.  To  him  it  is  one  of  the 
things  that  need  never  be  feared  for  ;  it  cannot  fail. 

This  is  not  to  say  that  soldiers  underrate  the  hardness  of  the  Navy's 
task.  A  few  sailors  visit  the  front  from  time  to  time  and  hold  curious 
arguments  with  the  soldiers,  each  side  being  deeply  convinced  that  the 
other  has  the  harder  time  of  it.  The  soldier's  imagination  is  struck  by 
the  large  proportion  of  deaths  among  the  casualties  of  naval  war  and  by 
visions  of  night  dutv  on  vessels  at  sea  in  bad  winter  weather.  What 
strikes  the  sailor,  in  presence  of  the  imperfections  of  dug-outs,  is  the 
soldier's  hardship  of  not  being  able  to  "  go  below  "  into  some  small 
cubic  space  of  warmth  and  dryness  when  action  is  over  or  a  watch  is 
through.  When  a  naval  officer,  who  visited  the  Somme  front  last 
summer,  and  saw  a  fight  near  Martinpuich,  rejoined  the  ship  that  he 
commanded,  he  paraded  his  whole  ship's  company  and  spent  two  hours 
in  telling  them  what  a  rough  time  the  soldiers  had,  and  what  fine  work 
they  were  doing.  The  generosity  of  the  praise  made  his  soldier  guide 
feel  almost  ashamed,  remembering  the  almost  instant  fate  of  the  "  Cressy," 
"  Aboukir,"  and  "  Hogue,"  and  the  obedience  of  the  "  Theseus  "  to  the 
heart-breaking  order  to  abandon  her  sinking  consort. 

Few  officers  or  men  from  the  western  front  can  visit  the  Fleet ;  but 
the  winds  of  chance,  which  blow  casualties  and  convalescents  all  about 
Great  Britain,  drop  a  few  of  them  down  in  spots  where  the  Fleet,  as 
Mr.  Bone  draws  it,  is  under  their  eyes.  Drawings  like  those  of  "A  Fleet 
Seascape"  (LXXXIX)  and  "A  Line  of  Destroyers  "  (LXXXVI)  awake 
recollections  of  guard  duty  in  a  small  Scotch  fishing  village ;  of  the 
majestic  seaward  procession  through  the  midsummer  night,  before  the 
battle  of  Jutland  ;  of  the  return  from  the  fight,  the  destroyers  streaming 
tranquilly  back  to  their  moorings  under  the  hill,  with  the  great  searchlight 
wheeling  to  and  fro  along  the  sea  outside  them,  like  a  sentry  moving 
alertly  on  his  post ;  a  few  wounded  ships  steaming  in  more  sedately,  or 
taking  a  tow,  one  with  a  couple  of  funnels  knocked  out  of  the  straight, 
another  with  a  field-dressing  of  bedding  stuffed  into  a  hole  in  her  side, 
and  the  whole  wound,  apparently,  smeared  with  red  paint,  as  the 
surgeons  smear   flesh    wounds  with    yellow  ;    and  then   of  the   coming 


ashore,  the  men  triumphant  and  happy,  the  officers  learning  with 
astonishment  and  indignation  that  people  at  home  had  heard  more  of 
losses  than  of  the  victory. 

Mr.  Bone's  drawings  give  an  insight  into  the  world  of  the  Navy  to 
which  these  random  glimpses  can  add  nothing.  "  H.M.S.  '  Lion  '  in  dry 
dock  "  (LXXXIII)  is  wonderful,  technically — if  a  layman  may  judge — 
and  in  spirit.  A  whole  aspect  of  modern  naval  life  is  lit  up  by 
"A  boiler-room  on  a  battleship"  (XCIII).  For,  to  the  astonished 
landsman  visiting  a  man-of-war,  the  sailors  of  to-day  seem  to  work  and 
eat  and  sleep  in  a  variety  of  engineering  laboratories,  surrounded  by 
countless  wheels,  handles,  buttons  and  bells  for  the  evocation  or 
dismissal  of  the  genies  of  steam,  petrol  and  electricity.  Nothing  could 
be  more  unlike  the  lower  decks  of  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  century 
battleships  as  we  imagine  them.  The  only  things  which  have  not 
changed,  from  the  days  of  Drake  to  those  of  Hawke,  and  from  Nelson's 
time  to  Beatty's,  are  the  hereditary  instinct  for  the  sea  and  the  fine 
fighting  temperament  of  officers  and  men. 

G.  H.  Q.,  France, 

April,   1 91 7 


LXXXI 

"OILING":   A    BATTLESHIP    TAKING    IN 
OIL   FUEL   AT   SEA 

Viewed  from  the  bridge.  A  large  oil  "  tanker  "  is  along- 
side. Unseen,  but  very  fast,  the  oil  fuel  is  running  into  the 
battleship.  How  great  a  boon  this  new  fuel  is  can  be 
understood,  at  any  rate  partly,  by  those  who  have  endured 
the  coaling  of  a  great  ship  in  the  old  way.  The  scene 
shown  in  the  drawing  was  animated  by  the  changeful  gleam 
of  the  gay  signal  flags  flapping  in  the  foreground  and  by 
the  flashing  of  the  wings  of  innumerable  hungry  gulls. 


LXXXII 


ON  A  BATTLE-CRUISER  (H.M.S.   "LION') 

The  ship's  funnel  behind  and  the  sailor's  figure  on  the 
left  help  to  give  the  scale  of  the  great  gun. 


LXXXIII 

H.M.S.   "LION  '   IN  DRY   DOCK 

The  great  hull  we  see  here  has  seen  more  battling  in  the 
present  war  than  any  other  of  our  "  capital "  ships. 
Officially  "sunk"  by  the  Germans,  she  will  yet  prove  a 
troublesome  ghost  to  them.  In  the  foreground  the  dock- 
yard workers  are  busily  surveying  the  ship's  Gargantuan 
cables  for  weakened  or  damaged  links. 


LXXXIV 

OxN  A  BATTLESHIP  :    LOWERING  A    BOAT 
FROM   THE   MAIN   DERRICK 

The  "Main  Derrick"  is  a  great  crane  and  lifts  a  heavy 
boat  Uke  the  one  in  the  drawing,  or  an  Admiral's  barge, 
ovit  of  the  water  and  stows  it  on  deck  with  the  greatest  ease. 


LXXX\' 

APPROACHING    A     BATTLESHIP    AT 

NIGHT 

A  battleship  revealed  by  the  beam  of  »its  own  searchlight. 
A  big  gun  emerges  in  silhouette,  as  well  as  a  sentry  on 
duty.  One  feels  considerable  awe  when  threading  one's 
w^ay  in  a  small  picket  boat  between  the  ships  of  the  Fleet 
at  night. 


LXXXVI 

A    LINE    OF    DESTROYERS 

A  line  of  destroyers  at  anchor.  Seen  from  a  distance,  in 
this  formation,  a  long  line  of  destroyers  looks  curiously  like 
a  battalion  drawn  up  in  line  of  platoons  in  file,  at  a  wide 
interval,  and  standing  on  the  sea.  It  will  be  remembered 
that  the  battle  of  Jutland  was  as  much  a  battle  of 
destroyers  as  of  any  other  type  of  warship. 


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LXXXVII 


ON  A   BATTLESHIP  :    A  GUN  TURRET 

Part  of  the  deck  of  one   of  the   most  famous    of  British 
ships,  cleared  for  action. 


LXXXVIII 

ON    A    BATTLESHIP    IN    THE    FORTH 

Britain  has  many  beautiful  estuaries,  but  the  Forth  has 
features  Hke  the  distant  Highland  hills  and  its  enormous 
Bridge  which  make  it  unique  among  our  waterways.  The 
Bridge  makes  even  the  largest  warship  seem  a  pigmy,  yet 
one  has  a  queer  sensation  when  about  to  pass  under  it  for 
the  first  time  ;  one  momentarily  expects  all  the  ship's  top 
hamper  to  be  carried  away — everything  about  the  Bridge 
being  on  so  big  a  scale  that  what  is  safely  distant  seems 
perilously  close. 


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LXXXIX  (a  and  b) 

A    FLEET   SEASCAPE 

To  the  left  a  group  of  destroyers  are  gathered  round  a 
parent  ship.  To  the  right  is  the  beginning  of  an  imposing 
Hne  of  battleships. 


THE    CREW    AT    A    SMALL     GUN     ON    A 

BATTLESHIP 

From  this  point  of  view  the  shield  partly  hides  the  muzzle 
of  the  gun.  The  gun  crew  are  listening  to  instructions. 
Note  the  "  Navy  Warm  "  worn  by  the  figure  in  the  middle  : 
often,  when  the  weather  is  "  fine  "  from  the  landsman's 
point  of  view,  it  is  still  bitterly  cold  on  the  North  Sea. 
Two  larger  guns  can  be  seen  protruding  from  their  turret 
in  the  deck  below. 


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THE    FOC'SLE   OF   A   BATTLESHIP 

The  crew  of  a  Battleship  at  "  General  Drill  "on  a  brisk 
spring  morning  is  an  exhilarating  sight  to  the  spectator 
posted  at  a  quiet  corner  well  out  of  the  way.  The  band 
of  the  Marines  plays,  and  the  maximum  of  everything 
possible  seems  to  be  going  on  at  once.  In  the  sketch  the 
ship's  boats  have  been  launched  and  are  making  their  wav 
with  steady  stroke  out  to  a  neighbouring  ship  and  back. 


XCi 


ox   A    BATTLESHIP  :    THE    AFTER   DECK 

The  delicate  but  firm  precision  of  the  drawing  conveys 
aptlv  the  general  air  of  a  man-of-war's  deck,  where  every- 
thing is  intricate  without  confusion,  and  busy  without  fuss. 


XCII 

INSIDE    THE    TURRET 

Interior  of  a  Big  Gan  Turret  on  a  Battleship,  with  the 
crew  at  their  stations.  The  breech  of  the  gun  is  open  and 
looks  gigantic  in  this  confined  space  where  every  inch  is 
made  to  serve  some  purpose.  An  officer  is  seen  in  the 
gangway  between  the  twin  guns,  but  of  course  the  higher 
direction  of  the  firing  is  transmitted  from  the  "  Fire  control" 
station  situated  elsewhere. 


XCIII 

A   BOILER   ROOM   ON   A   BATTLESHIP 

The  vessel  is  oil-driven,  so  the  stoke-hold  is  robbed  of  its 
old  terrors  and  is  remarkably  cool.  The  stokers  seem  few 
in  proportion  to  the  size  of  the  place,  but  they  are  experts 
of  a  higher  class  than  coal  furnaces  required. 


XC1\"   (a  and  b) 

PRACTICE     FIRING  :     BIG     GUNS     ON     A 

BATTLESHIP 

Here  the  scale  of  the  great  guns  is  only  given  by  the 
dwarfed  rail  beneath  and  by  the  long  stretch  of  horizon 
which  the  funnels  subtend.  But  no  merely  physical  ratio 
can  convey  the  impression  of  enormousness  that  a  great 
naval  gun  makes  on  the  imagination.  By  subtler  technical 
means  the  artist  has  managed  to  transfuse  this  impression 
from  his  own  imagination  to  that  of  the  spectator  of  the 
drawing. 


ON    A    BATTLESHIP  :    SUNSET   AFTER    A 

WEI"    DAY 

The  saihjr  has  nuicli  to  bear  from  the  weather,  but  at  any 
rate  he  sees  to  extraordinary  advantage  the  glories  of  sunset 
and  the  "  incomparable  pomp  of  dawn,"  unsullied  by  the 
smoke  ot   the  lanti. 


xcv 


ON  A    BATTLESHIP  :    AIRING   BLANKETS 

An  unfamiliar  aspect  of  a  warship  to  the  public,  but,  to 
Jack,  it  returns  with  unfailing  regularity  once  a  week.  In 
the  cramped  space  it  requires  careful  management  to  keep 
all  the  great  crew  in  health  and  comfort. 


XCVI 

CAPTAIN   CYRIL  FULLER, 
C.M.G.,  D.S.O.,  ROYAL  NAVY 


11  mwrttwmmii  mfiir  l 


XCVII 

THE    FLEET'S    POST    OFFICE 

To  the  right  is  an  old  hulk  which  now  serves  as  a  sorting 
office  for  the  Fleet's  Post.  Around  it  there  is  at  certain 
hours  a  busy  scene,  picket  boats  coming  from  the  various 
ships  to  deliver  or  collect  their  mails. 


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IN     THE     SUBMERCiED     TORPEDO     FLAT 
OF    A    BATTLESHIP 

Interior  of  the  Chamber  from  which  the  torpedoes  are 
fired.  The  torpedo  in  the  foreground  is  partlv  engaged  in 
the  tube  through  which  it  will  be  fired.  To  the  right  is 
seen  the  exterior  of  another  tube.  The  men  are  lowering, 
for  stowage  in  safety,  a  trial  torpedo  which  has  been  fired 
for  a  practice  run  and  then  re-captured. 


XCIX 

SAILORS     ON     A     BATTLESHIP     MAKING 
MUNITIONS    FOR    THE    ARMY 

This  is  Jack  at  his  handiest,  especially  from  the  Army 
point  of  view.  The  party  are  using  spare  time  to  make 
"  grommets  "  of  rope-work  to  go  round  the  bases  of  9.2 
shells.  Xot  many  people,  even  in  the  Army,  know  that 
the  Army  have  come  to  look  to  the  men  of  the  Fleet  for  a 
great  supply  of  these  necessaries. 


THE   CINEMA   ON   A   BATTLESHIP 

A  relaxation  immensely  popular  and  quite  easy  for  the 
handv  men,  who  abound  in  the  Navy,  to  equip  and  run. 
Being  their  own  child,  each  ship  takes  a  pride  in  its 
"  pictures."  The  operator  in  this  case  was  the  Chief 
Mechanician  of  the  ship  and  the  film  the  "  Battle  of  the 
Ancre."  In  the  centre  are  a  group  of  midshipmen,  to  the 
right  a  group  of  warrant  officers.  In  the  foreground  will 
be  observed  the  ever  readv  fire  hose. 


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